The Deepest Secret
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: When Sherlock turns up at Baker Street, bloodied and in shock, he predicts every reaction from John except a lack of one. 'Grace Notes' from Sherlock's perspective, post-Reichenbach.
1. Chapter 1

After reading TeaLogic's brilliant _Sherlock's Law _and _Rush of Stupidity to the Head_, in which the author tells the same story from both Sherlock and John's perspective, I felt inspired to try the same with my recent story _Grace Notes._

If you've not read _Grace Notes _(which is Sherlock's return as seen through John's eyes) I suggest you do that first as this'll make more sense.

This story is based on the poem _'I carry your heart' _by E.E Cummings (1894-1962). It is in two parts.

The Deepest Secret

by Mally O'Jack

_**Here is the deepest secret nobody knows **_

Sherlock is standing at the doorstep of 221b Baker Street. He has been standing here for exactly 34 seconds. He is faintly aware of the warm, throbbing pain on the side of his head. He can smell blood, his blood

_(blood accounts for 7% of a human body 's weight)_

and it feels sticky as it oozes out from underneath his scarf

_(his only scarf). _

But he puts these irritations to one side. Because after three years, he will see John face to face, and he is shaking, and he is not altogether certain whether he is going into shock

_(__shock: the disturbance of function, equilibrium, or mental faculties caused by a violent blow)_

or whether it is the adrenaline

_(chemical formula (R)-4-(1-hydroxy-2-(methylamino)ethyl)benzene-1,2-diol)_

coursing through his veins.

The flat is dark upstairs, but he knows that John is in. He raps sharply on the door. There is no answer, and so he knocks again, and he keeps knocking because he knows that will annoy John

_("Sherlock, don't you come with an off-switch?") _

and eventually he hears John stamping down the stairs and grumbling about cold callers

_(John was always nice to door-to-door salesmen, it was him who was banned from answering the front door)_

and he waits for him to find the right key.

The door swings open. John stares at him, his mouth hanging open, and then he abruptly slams the door in his face.

Sherlock is once again confronted by the shoddy paintwork of their front door

_(why has Mrs. Hudson not employed someone to repaint it?)_

and is not entirely sure what to do next. He is cold, despite his coat. He takes the scarf away from his head, barely registering the pain as the wound tears away from the fabric, and then the door opens again.

John is now a grey colour and Sherlock braces himself for a barrage of words or perhaps worse, but then John says calmly, "Come in."

Perhaps John will save his angry words for when they are in the privacy of the flat. Sherlock enters before John can change his mind, and climbs the stairs. He has to use the bannister as he is feeling a little light-headed now

_(a common symptom after receiving a blow to the head)._

The stairway is dark, and the hallway is dark, and the lounge is dimly lit. The bulb has blown in the far corner of the room and it has not been replaced.

"John -"

**_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows_**

**_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud-_**

but he is cut off.

"Lie down," John says. "Put your head here." He indicates the arm of the sofa. "I'll get a suture pack."

He has not seen John behave like this before. John is not looking at him. It is like John is treating him like a stranger

_(worse than a stranger)_

or a patient

_(a person receiving medical treatment)_

and he cannot fathom why John is acting like this. His thoughts are irritatingly slow and it seems no time at all that John returns.

"Lie down here," John says.

Sherlock cannot detect any emotion in his friend.

_(Perhaps his calculations are in error, he has predicted every reaction except a lack of one). _

Sherlock lies down on the sofa, which is easier said than done; the room is now tilting as if he is on a ship.

_(When he was young he wanted to be a pirate). _

John asks him some medical questions:

"What were you hit with?"

_(Wound debridement depends on the nature of the weapon) _

"Did you lose consciousness?"

_(Loss of consciousness increases the risk of intracranial haemorrhage) _

He can hear the squeak of the rubber as John puts the surgical gloves on.

"John -"

**_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows_**

**_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud_**

**_and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows -_**

"Don't."

John is not allowing him to speak.

Before, he talked to John all the time, even when John wasn't there.

_("__Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?")_

_("I don't know. How often are you away?") _

John would let him talk and John would never interrupt.

Now John does not want to listen to a word he has to say.

"I need to clean it first. I don't have any anaesthetic so it might sting."

That is an understatement. The iodine sets his brow on fire, and the suture needle rips and tears at his flesh so that he feels nauseous and he wants to tell John to stop, that it hurts, but John does not want to hear him, so he settles for trying to contain the pain in his fists.

At last John finishes suturing. "You'll need the top stitches out in five days. Don't put anything over it." John's voice is thick with exhaustion. "I'm going to bed."

Sherlock is thirsty and he wants to wash away the blood that is clinging tightly to his skin and making his hair stiff like wire, but his head is aching, and he cannot process John's reaction, and his body is heavy

_(the gravity of Earth is __9.78 m/s² and why hasn't his mind deleted such a useless fact?) _

and he doesn't so much lose consciousness as fall into the black.

* * *

Sherlock is woken by a beam of sunlight that has escaped from a crack in the curtains. He knows exactly where he is. He is aware of a quiet snoring next to him, and he turns his head

_(pain)_

to look at John, who at some point has crept down in the night and is now sitting opposite him in the armchair.

Sherlock examines his friend, sees the

_(lined and worn face, the flecks of gray in his hair, the moth holes in John's jumper)_

accumulation of three years of increasing despair that has been etched into John, and he feels guilt

_(mea culpa,__  
__mea maxima culpa)_

and this is distressing, so he carefully gets up

_(more pain)_

and carefully makes his way into the bathroom. He runs the shower

_(the water is cold) _

and takes off his bloodied coat, his bloodied shirt, and the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower

_(the water is still cold but now it is red). _

* * *

They meet in the hall way.

For an instant he sees distress in John's expression, and then a sudden relief, before something inside John switches off, and then this is not his John.

"There is blood on my shirt," Sherlock says."May I borrow one of yours?" He does not know if this John will start shouting at him, or if he will start hitting him. This John is different.

John hands him a shirt

_(a present from John's sister who evidently does not know her own brother's measurements; this shirt is far too large, and it is black, and John never wears black)_

John mentions breakfast, and suddenly Sherlock remembers that he has not eaten

_(for days). _

* * *

Sherlock enters the kitchen. John is pottering around chopping mushrooms, and it is so much like _before_ that he says

"John - "

**_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows_**

**_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud_**

**_and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows_**

**_higher than soul can hope or mind can hide - _**

"Not yet."

* * *

(To be concluded in part two).


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the final part. Thanks for reading thus far. I'd really love to hear what you think.

* * *

**The Deepest Secret (conclusion)**

"John - "

"Not yet."

Sherlock sits at the kitchen table, and he is so hungry that he devours the fry-up in a matter of minutes. In contrast, John barely eats anything.

_(When John is upset he can't eat)._

He is still hungry and as if reading his mind, John switches the plates around. "Here."

"Do you not want it?"

"I'm not hungry."

Sherlock eats but does not take pleasure in the food, because he is watching John out of the corner of his eye as John puts the kettle on. He is apprehensive about what will happen after John finishes making the tea.

Sherlock finishes eating and pushes his plate to one side. He sits with his hands clasped and resting on the counter. John puts a mug of tea in front of him, and then sits with his own cup of coffee facing Sherlock.

Sherlock is reminded of a stand-off in a spaghetti western that John made him watch once

_("Are you having me on? You've never seen 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly'? Right, that one's going on the list") _

except here, instead of guns, they have coffee cups.

So," John says. He is very calm still. "You're back then?

_(With this John, it is safer to keep words to a minimum)_

"Yes."

"For good?"

"Yes."

"What happened to your head?"

"The last of Moriarty's henchmen."

_(He is being deliberately pejorative in using the word 'henchman'. The man was in fact above average intelligence, and exceedingly dangerous)._

"He fought

_(with fire and steel)_

but I managed to dispatch him

_(by snapping his neck)._

Then I came

_(staggering, swaying)_

here."

"For me to patch you up," John says flatly.

"No. I was always going to return to Baker Street after I had finished."

_(He thought it would take mere months, but thirty-six of them passed, and there were times he wanted to stop, but he continued on because -)_

"It was my reward."

"Your reward," John says, and suddenly his face changes. "It's - not - a bloody game - "

John's mobile rings then. It is the same ringtone as before. But John does not appear to have heard it. He is glaring at Sherlock

_(increased respiration rate, increased blood pressure causing facial flushing)_

and the phone keeps ringing, and it is annoying.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Sherlock says at last.

John picks up the phone. "Yes? Yeah, sorry. Can't come in. I'm ill. Yeah, there's a lot of it going around. Right. Cheers."

John sets the phone down, and Sherlock notices his hand is trembling slightly. Then John leaves him and strides out into the lounge. He stands facing away from Sherlock. He seems to be doing a breathing exercise. Sherlock wonders if it is his John who will return.

But no. It is the

_(other John)_

who sits down again at the table.

"So what happened, up there, on the roof. It was you who jumped, I take it?" John's voice is hard.

"Yes."

John sits back and crosses his arms. "Well?"

Sherlock begins his carefully prepared explanation, but he knows that John is not listening. John is drumming his fingers against his arm impatiently. John does not care about how Sherlock did it, why he did it, where he has been, and why he came back.

And it is then that Sherlock starts to feel the beginnings of despair. Because he wants

_(needs)_

his friend.

But John is not there.

He attempts to keep his voice even. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

_(John?)_

And it is then that John suddenly erupts. "How could you do that to me?" Sherlock is not prepared for the volume and ferocity.

"How could you let me go on like that? Thinking you were dead?"

It shocks Sherlock and he moves back despite himself, and he tries to determine the correct response,and John walks away in disgust, and Sherlock knows that he does not want to let this John

_(his John)_

disappear, and so he goes after him - "I didn't have a choice. Even yesterday they would have killed you."

"What makes you think I even want you back?" John says, and he is smiling now, and somehow this is worse than the shouting. "That chapter in my life is closed now. I've accepted it. I've moved on. So why don't you do us all a favour, and stay dead?"

They are ugly words, not-good words, words that are designed to hurt and to make him leave, but

_(underneath) _

Sherlock can hear what John is really saying.

And so Sherlock says: "You're lying."

"Nope."

"You haven't moved on."

"I have."

_("I'm so sorry for your loss")_

"No, John. I think - ". He feels like he is on a knife-edge. The wrong word, and they will both fall.

"I think that you are unfinished. Like a violin sonata that has been muted." Sherlock takes a step towards him, and John backs away.

"You feel dislocated."

John is shaking his head, but Sherlock presses on. "It is as if all the lights in the world have gone out, and you alone are standing in the darkness."

"How could you know that?"

"It is what my life is like," Sherlock says honestly. "Without you."

John rushes at him then, and Sherlock braces himself, but John grabs hold of his arms, and starts head-butting him in the chest, and the violence of it takes his breath away, and it hurts

_(it is a good hurt) _

and John will not let him go, and John is screaming into his shirt, and he stands there and accepts this for what it is

_(not an assault, but an acknowledgement)_

and then finally John stops and rests his head on Sherlock's chest, and John is still gripping his arms and he can feel the warmth of tears soaking through his shirt, and he hears John saying his name over and over, and Sherlock closes his eyes, and there is only John, and here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart:

_For these past three years,_

_Sherlock has carried John Watson's heart._

_(He has carried it in his heart)_**  
**

* * *

_Finis_


End file.
